Fire and Ice
by DancingQueen8417
Summary: When Jacob moves to La Push, Washington to start a new life with his father, he meets Bella Swan, a susposedly normal family friend. As he gets to know her, Jacob begins to see that she's not your average teen...and neither is he.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I wondered how long it would take for my rust-colored skin to burn in the rays of sunshine bleeding through the front windshield. I'd been sitting here for over two hours and my bare arms were beginning to tingle against the heat. I glanced down at my knuckles; they were ghost white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. Or maybe it was from anxiety. Could your knuckles stay white permanently if you were always tense?

Sitting in my cramped car made me feel like I hadn't moved a muscle in months. I was used to running miles and miles in the sweltering heat of California. I was used to feeling the fresh air against my hot neck and taking cool, refreshing showers afterwards. Now I felt small and claustrophobic.

I turned the volume of the radio up as loud as the dial would allow. I felt the angry stares focused on the side of my face as I rolled my window down at one of those really annoyingly long red lights. An old lady driving a rusty, dark blue minivan pulled up beside me and joined the staring club. Her eyes were squinted against the light of the sun, but that didn't hide her look of annoyance at all. Her frown was bent lower than I would have thought possible, but that didn't make me want to turn the music down. I found some odd, messed up pleasure from making her mad.

Instead I just beamed, hoping the sun reflected off my clear teeth and blinded her. She didn't seem intimidated, but the light turned green and she sped away as fast as she could. I smiled, remembering that my dad loved the song that was blaring through my speakers. I pictured him waving mockingly to the old hag that despised the loud music. He wouldn't have minded a bit.

Billy had been my best friend. Most boys had their own little boy posses when they were young, but I had had my dad. He helped me build my six-year-old inventions and then I would watch in awe while he fixed up an old motorcycle and took it for a spin. Mom would laugh at the look of us both, dirty and greasy beyond repair.

I sighed at the memory. It had been so great back then. No worries, no pain. I looked back on it now as a golden age, a time that only existed for a few seconds compared to the longer, more painful segments of my life without him.

It had been three years, maybe even more, since I'd seen Billy, and yet I could still see his face in this old, secluded part of my mind. Now I pictured myself with him, sitting in front of his beat-up TV talking about motorcycles and go-carts. It didn't seem so bad to live life back in my golden age…but would it be that way? Would we still be the old pals we used to be?

That thought made my skin crawl and my knuckles turn an even whiter shade of white. Why was I doing this? Why was I getting in the way of how everything was supposed to be?

I grinded my teeth together and stared out into the fading light of the sun. There was a reason why I was here on the highway and not in my mom's house eating spaghetti and meatballs. I had tried to yell and scream and throw something at the perfect frame of her new, perfect life, but it hadn't worked. She had been so busy with her two new step-kids and her wonderful husband to even notice that I existed, let alone took up space or had feelings.

I was mad at her, and it was time I admitted that to myself. I had been blaming it on Max and his obnoxious little boys…but was it really them? Was it really their fault that my mom had chosen them over me? No. It was her decision, and this was mine.

My ears caught the familiar ring of my cell phone over the blaring 80s music. I twisted the dial down quickly and looked to see who was disturbing my peaceful escape. Oh, crap.

"Jacob!" My mom practically screamed the moment she heard me breathing on the other end of the line.

"Mom, chill—"

"Don't you dare, young man! You are in _huge_ trouble! We were worried sick—"

"I'm fine, mom."

"Where the heck are you?"

"Uhh…Portland."

"Portland?"

"Oregon."

"_What?!_ You are coming home _right_ now!"

"No."

There was silence for a moment. I waited as patiently as possible for someone beyond being mad at the person they were talking to. It was hard to believe that this woman was my mother. It definitely didn't feel like she was. What kind of mother would let her 16-year-old son get three hours away before she even noticed he was missing?

"What did you just say?" She finally asked. Her voice sounded weak and defeated. That made it all the easier to finish her off.

"I'm not coming home. That's final. I'm going to dad."

"Jacob, no. Your father has enough to worry about. Please…you live here." She sounded truly sorry now, and I could see that she finally realized the damage she had been causing the past few months. But I wasn't ready to let it go. It would all be the same again if I went back.

"But you don't need me. You have Max and new kids and a new life. I don't want all that, but you never thought to ask me. It was all about you and what you wanted. I thought we were a team. I thought we made decisions together, just the two of us. I guess I was wrong."

"Jacob—no—"

"I'll be with dad." I could feel the tears trying to break their way through my squinted eyelids. "You won't miss me. Bye."

I could hear her crying and screaming protests on the other end as I hung up. The tears came fast and thick now, and I didn't feel like making an effort to stop them. I just hoped she wouldn't come after me.

* * *

The house still looked the same. It was a small, brick ranch set on the outer edge of a thick forest filled with oaks and evergreens. An old, orange truck sat outside the open garage door in almost the exact same spot it had been when I had visited in the 8th grade. The only thing different was a small doghouse sitting next to the front steps. That made me sad. Was my dad lonely enough that he had to buy a pet?

I felt self conscious as I parked my shiny Honda Civic next to his rusty old ride. Was this going to be weird? Did he think I was some kind of rich kid?

I pushed that last thought out of my mind and jogged to the front door. This was my _dad_ I was talking about. He was the type to not care that his son had a nicer car than him. He would probably ask if he could drive it to work.

My hands started to shake a little as I knocked on the front door. I could see the light of his little TV on in the living room and heard the cheering of fans in the background. I immediately remembered his love for football, and I felt a strange pain in my chest when I realized that I knew nothing about the sport.

I waited a minute or two but he never came to the door. Should I have called first? The answer to that was obvious, but I had never built up the courage to look up his number in the phone book before I left home. I couldn't imagine talking to him on the phone. It didn't seem…right. I needed to see him face-to-face in order to feel like he really existed, like this was the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn't.

I knotted my fingers impatiently and rang the doorbell a couple times. He had to be home…unless he was the type to leave his TV on so people _thought_ he was home. Ok, no, that sounded stupid.

"Come on, come on…" I whispered to myself. I started jumping around when the wind got colder.

Finally I heard some heavy footsteps and the volume of the TV lowered a little. The door squeaked loudly as it swung open to reveal my father leaning lazily against the frame. We stared at each other for a long moment. He looked bored, then scared, and finally confused as he realized who I was. Or maybe he didn't recognize me.

"Dad?" I asked uncertainly. His big, black eyes resembled mine, I noticed proudly. "It's Jacob."

He smiled wide and wrapped his big, rust-colored arms tightly around me.

"What are you doing here?" He asked happily into my ear. His breath felt warm and refreshing on my neck. Well, that hadn't been the reaction I was expecting.

"It's a long story," I mumbled, but he didn't seem to catch on to my bad mood.

"Oh, I missed you, Jake!" He yelled, rubbing my head playfully. He had never liked to scream his feelings to the world, so that must have been a stretch for his non-emotional vocabulary. "Come in, come in!"

He pulled the door open wider and practically dragged me inside the warm house. The smell of his homemade chilly shoveled into my nose as I walked toward my favorite couch in the cramped living room. Sure enough, a football game was on.

"So…does your mom know you're here?"

I knew that question was bound to come up in the first five minutes. But this was sooner than I'd expected.

"Err…no, not exactly. She thinks I'm…I'm..."

I knew I couldn't lie to my dad. He would see right through it, just like always. I had once told him that a stray cat had scratched his car when really it had been me trying to carry a shovel at the age of five. He had guessed the truth in a matter of seconds back then, and he would now, too.

He kept pouring his coffee. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. When he turned his head to face me, every part of his face had transformed into a sad, disappointed expression.

"You ran away, didn't you, son," he stated quietly. Of course he had figured it out.

I didn't answer for awhile. What could I say? My feeble attempt to start a new life felt childish now. I had barged into my dad's house without any warning. He would have been watching his football game right now, probably like he did every Friday, and this big bundle of worry and dread and confusion wouldn't be sitting here, taking up space in his already-tiny living room.

"Why did you?" He asked calmly. I couldn't believe his level of patience.

It took me a moment to unthaw my brain and find the horrible thoughts of the past couple months, but suddenly they were there, ready for me to bite into and tear open as violently as possible.

"Mom," I said slowly, "got married. His name is Max." It felt weird talking about my mom's new family with her ex-husband.

My dad stood up and turned the stove off. He came over and sat next to me on the squishy couch, and his weight pushed us a little closer to the floor. My dad, of all people, seemed to understand how I felt. He put his right hand comfortingly on my shoulder. "It's rough?" he asked knowingly.

"Yeah," I said quietly, a small smile forming on my lips. Would he let me stay here? Did he understand how horrible it was back home? I could feel myself beginning to hope.

He patted my shoulder again and got back up off the couch. "Do you want some chilly?"

I smiled and nodded. He understood what I needed so much more than my mom. But how could that be, when I hadn't seen him for so long? It seemed like no time had passed since I was sitting on this same couch, eating his same famous chilly.

I took advantage of the silence to really look at him for the first time in three years. I could tell he had aged; there were a few more lines etched into the skin of his forehead and cheeks. He had the same rust-colored skin as me, and his dark hair went down to his shoulders, just like mine. I could feel the same expression of calmness he was wearing beginning to shape itself onto my own face.

"Jake?"

"Yeah?" I asked. I couldn't hide the curiosity and hope in my voice.

"Why don't you stay here a while. I need another set of hands around here."

"Sure. But mom...."

The screams and yells from the phone call came back to haunt me. She would do everything in her power to make me come home. Could my dad keep her from coming?

"I'll talk to your mother," Billy said slowly. I could tell he dreaded it more than he was letting on.

"Dad, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do, son. You should be allowed to stay here. I'm your father, you know."

That last part made us both smile. He walked across the soft carpet and handed me a bowl of his hot, homemade chilly. A wide grin spread across my face as he changed the channel to a man trying to repair a beat-up motorcycle.

3


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I didn't step foot into my room until after midnight. I hadn't given any thought to how it would be to come back here, but now that I looked through the last door on the right side of the hall, I couldn't help but smile.

Everything was still exactly the same—my books, my old CD player, my plain blue bedcovers. A pair of muddy old sneakers that I remembered wearing out to the creek were still sitting beside a pile of old _Sports Illustrated _magazines at the foot of my twin bed. Trophies from soccer, baseball, tennis, and every other sport imaginable were stationed out evenly across my dresser. It was like a mirror of my past, reflecting back to show who I used to be.

I shuffled across the dirty carpet, knowing that my dad hadn't been in here for at least three years. The place smelled of old soccer cleats and nasty B.O.

"Hey, Jacob?"

I jumped at the sound of his voice at the doorway. It was going to take a long time to get used to it.

"I just wanted to make sure everything was…okay in here." He wrinkled his nose and chuckled at the sight of my muddy boots.

"Clean much?" I asked jokingly.

"Naw, cleaning's overrated." He smiled and picked up the boots. "But these definitely need to go."

I nodded and started looking through my smelly closet. Only half of the clothes were even on hangers; everything else was clumped together in a giant lazy pile on the floor. "Man, I was a slob."

Billy laughed again and hit me playfully on the arm. I felt my skin burn with the feeling of his touch.

"That you were."

I nodded again and tried to think of something to say. As much as I hated to admit it, I was starting to feel a little awkward here. It wasn't how I had expected it to feel. A cardboard cut-out had been waiting here patiently for my return, but now I didn't feel like I quite fit into it. I wasn't a little kid anymore. I had changed since I'd last been in this room, and now I was a total stranger to it.

"Well I'm getting to bed, kid. See you." He seemed uncertain how to leave. His eyes searched my face for any sign that I expected him to go all-out with a goodnight hug.

I decided not to raise the awkwardness level just yet. "'Night dad. Uh…see ya tomorrow?"

"I'll be back from work for dinner. 'Night." He turned around and took a few steps toward the door.

I watched him walk out, biting my lips in embarrassment. Did I really not know where he worked?

~ * ~

A large, round fluffy thing was rude enough to wake me up at exactly 7am the next morning. I flailed and flipped awkwardly on the too-tiny bed as it prodded at my arms and nuzzled my neck.

"What the—"

I blinked rapidly and threw my arms at a huge shaggy dog sitting up on the bottom half of my bed. Unfortunately, I'd had a life-long fear of dogs ever since the neighbor's terrier bit my backpack in first grade. So this wasn't the greatest alarm clock.

"Stop that—GOD—stupid mutt—"

I slapped it—_hard_—and jumped out of the bed in one ninja-worthy motion.

"Take that!" I yelled, kicking my leg up in the air a couple inches from its begging puppy dog eyes. "Bring it on, sucker!"

Then it started barking. And I ran screaming like a girl.

"Dad! DAD! Get your d—"

I didn't even realize that I'd stopped in mid-sentence—or that a considerable amount of drool was probably running down my chin and my hair was sticking up on all sides—because a head of long, dark brown hair sat at the kitchen table in front of yesterday's newspaper.

"Sit!" The figure said suddenly.

She whipped her head around abruptly to face me, putting the paper down and brushing her wavy hair back casually. I stared at her perfect nose, full mouth, pale skin—and then I reached her eyes. They were a bright gold color that almost made me pee my pants.

"Me?" I asked stupidly.

"The dog," she giggled, letting her lips open softly into a graceful smile. Wow. She was beautiful. Perfect. But _what _the heck was she doing here? God, if she was my dad's girlfriend—

"I'm Bella, by the way. Bella Swan." She held out her hand even though I was standing all the way across the room.

"Er…hi?"

She smiled her perfect smile again, coaxing me towards her. "I'm Charlie's daughter…ring a bell?"

I did remember. Charlie Swan was the chief of police in the next town over, Forks. Bella and I had hung out when we were younger…making mud pies on the beach while our parents talked…but I hadn't remember her ever looking like _that._

"…Your dad asked me to take you to school so I can show you around."

She looked down at the floor awkwardly and twisted a piece of dark brown hair between her fingers.

"When do we have to leave?" I asked casually. I didn't want to find out why my dad hadn't just taken me by himself, but it seemed sort of not like him to throw the old family friend at me already. Not that I really minded much.

"Fifteen minutes, probably. And sorry about Bosco"—she pointed to my little enemy lying on the floor—"your dad probably didn't tell you he had a dog yet, did he?"

I gaped at her for a second, remembering my girlish screaming.

"Oh…uh…well…I had a bad—ahem—problem with a dog a while ago…ever since…."

"Mhmm." Bella nodded slowly, resting her chin on her hand to hide a little smile behind her fingertips. "Why don't you eat?" She added suddenly, her expression melting quickly into one of concern.

"Oh…right, umm…."

I walked over to the largest cupboard and rummaged around for some Frosted Flakes. None, of course—just four boxes of Raisin Bran. I silently cursed my healthy dad and poured out the chunky grossness into an old flower bowl that looked like it could have been fifty years old.

"So, when did you get—"

"_FOUR WEEKS OLD_!"

I pointed my finger violently at the carton and spit out the chunks of spoiled milk I'd already managed to get half-way down my throat.

Bella started laughing. I looked up at her with a smile slowly forming on my own sticky face.

"Oh, shut up," I whispered, still smiling as I ran into the bathroom to wipe my mouth.

"Nice one," she yelled between laughs. "Hope you don't spit up at lunch too."


End file.
